Hymns for the Hopeless
"Well I will be your roof, your shelter from the storm, your footing against the wind. And I'll mend for you my dear them holes that have been torn, and I hope our paths will cross again" Okay, that isn't supposed to be as depressing as it sounds. I'm sat in the kitchen, in my PJs, with a large mug of strong black coffee and some blues/country music on the stereo - If you don't know him already, look up a guy called William Elliott Whitmore. A young man with the voice, lyrics and style of a 60-year old bluesman. Evidently had a hard paper round, but he's pretty amazing. - Anyway, it's Valentine's day. St Valentine, who has absolutely nothing to do with love and romance at all. Maybe I should say it's Lupercalia, the ancient Roman festival of fertility, rather than celebrating the feast of a very confusing and possibly fictional saint who, thanks to Chaucer, now is the patron saint of Hallmark tat (as well as beekeepers and epileptics. Go figure...